heroes always get remembered—
by liliths
Summary: —but you know legends never die. short retellings of greek myths with doctor who characters.


**Title comes from Emperor's New Clothes. Inspired by crossingwinter's _"Sing, Oh Muse"_ on AO3. Word count: 1,569.**

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[heroes always get remembered—]

 _i. eurydice_

"Don't look back," he told himself. "Whatever you do, you can't look back."

Behind him, he heard Rose's footsteps, soft and light against the rocky ground. She had been beyond his grasp only a few hours ago, trapped in the Underworld, trapped in another dimension that he couldn't reach no matter how much he stretched his fingers. So instead of stretching them, he curled them around the metal strings of his lyre and plucked until his nails chipped and his flesh bled and even then, Rose was still in another world, not by his side.

He plucked at the strings gently now. That was all in the past. Soon, soon, so very soon, they would reach the surface. When they did, she would be by his side again, in the same dimension, beautiful and faithful as ever.

"Don't look back, don't look back, don't look back."

Behind him, he heard her footsteps falter and was no longer sure if she was still following him. Still, he trudged on slowly, cautious now. His fingers left the lyre and he listened intently, searching for the sound of her footsteps.

"Doctor," he heard her call softly as he reached the entrance. They were so, _so_ close, the sunlight already on his face and the birdsong already in his ears and the fragrance of spring already filling his senses.

"Doctor!"

He whipped around reflexively and realized his fatal mistake one second too late.

"Rose Tyler—" he began, but she had already faded.

-::-

 _ii. echo_

"Martha, look at this!" he exclaimed, jumping in the air in surprise. His converse shoes made an ugly clanging noise as they hit a loose wire panel on the TARDIS's floor. He'd have to fix that later, but he wasn't concerned right now. "Look at the _design_ of this nanotechnology. I've never seen anything like it! I'm absolutely amazed!"

"I'm absolutely amazed."

"Just look at it!" He turned around and showed the little petri dish to his companion without taking his eyes off of the tiny metallic, now-deactivated device inside. "It's so beautiful."

"It's so beautiful."

"You're absolutely right, Martha. It's not on right now, but I _think_ if it's powered up _just_ enough, we can get it to shrink itself to sub-atomic levels. It would be able to fit between anything, get inside anything, and pop back up into this little thing you see here once it's inside. It's the perfect little infiltrator, and virtually undetectable."

"And virtually undetectable."

"That's correct! Question is, where is it getting all that _power_ from?" He looked up and frowned, oblivious to her standing in front of him. "The amount of energy required to power it up must be _massive_. Perhaps the TARDIS can help."

"TARDIS can help."

"Let's give it a try, eh?" He turned around and punched a key on the interface. "Oh, look! She's giving us coordinates already. That's my girl for you. Oh, old girl, I love you."

"I love you."

-::-

 _iii. aethalides_

"I thought we could try the planet Felspoon," she chirped. "Just because. What a good name, _Felspoon_. Apparently, it's got mountains that sway in the breeze. Mountains that move. Can you imagine?"

"And how do you know that?"

"Because it's in your head! And if it's in your head, it's in mine." She winked at him, still oblivious to the severity of the situation.

"And how does that feel?"

"Brilliant! Fantastic! Molto bene! Great big universe, packed into my brain. You know you could fix that chameleon circuit if you just tried hot-binding the fragment links and superseding the binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary, binary."

She gasped and he flinched. "I'm fine! Nah, never mind Felspoon. You know who I'd like to meet? Charlie Chaplin. I bet he's great, Charlie Chaplin. Shall we do that? Shall we go and see Charlie Chaplin? Shall we? Charlie Chaplin? Charlie Chester. Charlie Brown. No, he's fiction. Friction, fiction, fixing, mixing, Rickston, Brixton."

He watched as she reeled over, impassive, frozen, numb on the inside. He knew what he had to do, and he knew it had to be done soon before it was too late. Still, all he could do was watch the situation unfold numbly, almost like an out-of-body experience. If he wasn't sure what would happen if he dared to think about his emotions.

"Oh my god," she gasped, standing upright again. She rubbed her head, and he knew it was a wound he couldn't fix this time.

"Do you know what's happening?"

"Yeah," she replied softly.

"There's never been a human Time Lord metacrisis before now. And you know why."

"Because there can't be." She was crying now. "I want to stay. I was going to be with you forever. The rest of my life, travelling in the TARDIS. I can't go back, and I can't just make myself forget. I don't forget anything, Doctor. I have a good memory, always have. I won't forget."

He smiled at her painfully. "Not even Aethalides could do that, my dear Donna."

The only thing he could do was to say goodbye.

-::-

 _iv. odysseus & penelope_

"The Centurion is dead, my lady," her servant told her for the thousand-and-fourth time that day. "Today is the day you should announce who you will marry. The suitors are getting restless down in the hall."

"He has protected me for two thousand years," Amelia replied. "I can keep faith for another two thousand if that's what it takes."

"My lady, you cannot be faithful to the dead. The dead don't love."

Amelia looked around her room, so spacious and empty now that Rory wasn't there to share it with her. The pots filled sunflowers he gave to her before he left ten years ago were still there, snapshots of the life they had ten years ago. Her eyes landed on her unfinished painting of the flowers they loved so much. "Nay, the dead don't love, but the living still do. Go down to the dining room and tell the suitors that I will announce who to marry once I'm done painting these sunflowers."

Reluctantly, the servant left her alone. Amelia knew she'd been telling them the same thing for years and years, and the suitors were tired of hearing it. Still, she didn't care what they thought. She would wait.

 _I will wait,_ she told herself over and over again. _I am the girl who waited. I will paint in color by day and go over the same brushstrokes in white by night. I will wait two thousand years and more._

Her servant knocked on her door. "My lady, there's a beggar here to see you. He says he has something of yours to return."

"Let him in," Amelia replied, setting her paintbrushes down. Sooner or later, they were going to find out about her schemes. She heard the heavy oak door open and close behind her and footsteps approaching slowly.

"You must have lost your touch if it takes you ten years to paint one sunflower, Amelia Pond," said a familiar voice.

"And you must have lost your touch if it takes you ten years to come home, Rory Williams," she replied.

-::-

 _v. icarus_

He could see her wings when she stretched them above her head, her lips curled in a triumphant smile. They were pitch-black like the night, like a raven's, and she was bathing in the warm sun's rays. In one fluid motion, she was sailing through the air, hooting and shouting in joy as she flew.

"Wait, Clara!" he called to her. "Wait!"

She was stronger than any of the other birds in the sky, flying faster, making sharper turns, steeper dives. He watched in fascination as she scattered a formation of sparrows, laughing as they fluttered past to avoid her dark wings.

"Clara, be careful," he yelled over the wind, struggling to keep up with her. "We're not there yet."

"When did you start being so careful, old man?" she replied, gliding up next to him. "This is what we do, right? You're always taking risks, and you always end up alright in the end."

"Our wings are held together by wax. Fly too close to the sun, and your wings will melt. You will fall straight into the ocean."

He knew she probably didn't even stay long enough to hear his words; she was already off, spiraling upwards with terrifying velocity. For one second, she was outlined against the sun, and he felt his hearts skip two beats, the sun a golden crown around her head. Clara stretched her wings of wax once again, the sunlight streaming down at him through the gaps in her feathers.

The words were stuck in his throat, and he could only watch in horror as the candlewax frame of her wings began to drip.

Clara screamed his name, and then she fell.

 **[fin.]**


End file.
